


Another Day

by Ferrenbach



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Affection, Brother-Sister Relationships, Depression, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Phase Four (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrenbach/pseuds/Ferrenbach
Summary: Sometimes 2-D hides himself away and refuses to interact with anyone. This bothers Noodle more than she would like to admit, but she's sure she can turn it around with some good food and a walk in the sun.





	Another Day

Some things never changed.

She didn’t know why she thought they would. The band had been apart for a long time and many things had happened – to her, to all of them – and any one of them might have been the catalyst for change, but the moment they were together, they fell into their old patterns, their old roles.

That was not entirely true, she supposed. There were changes so fine as to be nearly unnoticeable. Murdoc had eased up on the attitude somewhat and seemed to have discovered basic hygiene. Of course, there was always the chance that he was planning something heinous behind the scenes, but she had not thus far uncovered any evidence of this. In the meantime, he remained as abrasive as always, if more physically restrained, and she vowed to keep an eye on him.

Russel had pulled himself together considerably. There had been a time when the loss of his friends, and then the spirits of his friends – Del, in particular – had driven him half out of his mind, sending him on wild errands for solutions to problems greater than a mortal mind could confront. At one point he had swelled to truly enormous proportions – by what means remained sketchy to her – and the change in size had brought with it, strangely enough, a change in perspective. They had spent much time together, crossing the sea, and thus she knew him well enough to know it was _not_ enough. It was good, but not enough, and he was still plagued by spirits with whispered words of problems greater than he could battle.

2-D was… 2-D was…

2-D was 2-D.

She knew less of what had befallen him in their time apart, explanations consisting solely of being eaten by a whale – something she couldn’t even fathom – and making bracelets under the sun in a small town. Hardly enough to fill the space of time. He seemed less enamoured of Murdoc or his dreams, but had returned none the less and still tended toward doing as he was told. Without protest. Without thinking. It made her angry, sometimes, but there was also something reassuring about it. Something satisfying that pleased her, even as she despised herself for it.

As she thought he must sometimes despise himself as well. That never changed.

She knocked lightly on the door, even though she was certain he would not answer, because that was the polite and proper thing to do. Greeted only by silence, she nudged the door open a little.

“2-D?” she said. And then, more quietly, “Toochi? Niichan?”

The room should have been dim, but it was the middle of the day and even the dirt-milky windows could not prevent sunlight from bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. It poured over 2-D’s handful of possessions and pooled on the bed, a cat-napping paradise.

However, the blanket-wrapped lump at its centre was not, she believed, enjoying a brief rest. 2-D had been in and out of his room for several days – mostly in – before disappearing completely the day before. She thought he might have been holed up for well over twenty-four hours.

He might also be naked, she allowed. The blanket was oversized and very soft, its sole purpose to be felt against bare skin.

Oh well, she thought, there wasn’t much to be done about that. Although she preferred not to get an eyeful of her bandmates under normal circumstances, abnormal circumstances did occur and in these instances it was best to gird her loins and wade into battle.

“I’m coming in, okay?” she called softly, more a warning than a request for permission, and closed the door behind her as she crept into the room.

She crouched down next to the mattress on a palette that 2-D called his bed, still made and barely ruffled. When the soft blanket came out, it was all that mattered, and he curled up in it on top of everything else, wrapped head to toe, a shock of blue hair spilling from its makeshift cowl. One might have expected the blanket to be black, grey, or even dark blue – deep tones for deep feelings – but it was, in fact, a pale pink reminiscent of peppermint candies that acquired a mauveish tinge in a certain light.

“Hey, are you all right?” she said. “We haven’t seen you around for a while. I got a bit worried. I’m going to touch your shoulder, all right?”

Receiving no response, she did so, fingers sliding over the plush fabric of the blanket as she rubbed and scratched gently at 2-D’s shoulder and upper arm, petting him as she might pet Katsu. She felt warmth, which was good, although it could be attributed to the sunlight on the blanket, and movement, which was better, as it indicated the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

No drugs, she decided, or at least no overdose.

This eased some of her worry, but not all, and the temptation rose to yell at 2-D, demand a reaction, and force him to respond. She resisted, knowing it would be useless, and possibly detrimental. There were enough hard and sharp things in the world and, while yelling at him would most certainly work for a time, the result would be brief and the need for warmth and softness increased. If she started yelling, then one day yelling would no longer have an effect, possibly because 2-D would no longer be in any state to hear it.

Besides, she reminded herself, Murdoc yelled enough for everyone. It was so much a fact of life, that the most 2-D would do in the face of it was become strangely obstinate, aggravating Murdoc further until the interaction came to a head. She, on the other hand, did not typically yell and to do so, even in anxiety, would be more hurtful than Murdoc’s incessant tirades.

She rubbed his shoulder, his arm, his back, running her fingers up his spine and seeking out the base of his neck to rub the stiff and stressed muscles there, withdrawing quickly when she felt him flinch under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll stop. I won’t go, but I’ll stop. I’m going to sit on the floor next to your bed now, all right? Crouching is hard on the knees.” She settled herself on the floor and leaned against the mattress, letting her arm rest near the bunched up lump of the clutched blanket. “I’m just going to leave my arm here, okay? You can take my hand if you want to. I’d like it if you did.”

She waited quietly, saying nothing, not wanting to pressure 2-D if she could help it, but unwilling to leave him alone. Although she suspected he might not be ready to emerge just yet, she hoped that knowing she was there would be reassuring in some way. She didn’t play on her phone or fidget, using the time to meditate, surrounding herself with positive energy. The quality of light changed, shadows shifting, and she wondered if she should try to wake 2-D again or simply leave him be, when he finally spoke, his voice little more than a whisper.

“What do you want, Noodle?”

“I want to know you’re all right,” she told him.

“‘M fine,” 2-D murmured. “Just dun feel good.”

She didn’t point out that, if he wasn’t feeling good, then he was hardly fine.

“I know. You’ve been hiding away for a while. Are you hungry? Can I get you something?”

“Can leave me alone.”

“Do you really want to be alone?” she said, twisting the edge of the blanket between her fingers. “The house is quiet. Murdoc and Russel have gone out. It’s a good time to come out and get some sunshine without it being noisy and crowded. It’s such a beautiful day that I’ve opened all the windows to air the place out, and I don’t mind being quiet with you. I miss you when you hide away. But if it’s making you uncomfortable, I can go. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. And I don’t want you to feel guilted by my saying all this. I just want to make sure you know that, if you ask me to go, and I do, it will be because I respect that you asked and not because I don’t care or am turning my back on you. Okay?” Receiving no answer, she pressed on. “Do you really want to be alone?”

She waited several minutes, saying nothing, giving 2-D time to respond. Eventually, he did.

“I dunno,” he said, voice cracked and dry.

He shifted a little to loosen the blanket, and then peeled it back as he slowly rolled over, squinting and casting an arm over his eyes as he exposed himself to the bright sunlight. Faintly flushed, he panted a little from the heat of his cocoon and, if he was shirtless, the bit of denim uncovered at his hip assured her that he was at least somewhat clothed.

“I dunno what I want,” he repeated.

“That’s all right,” she told him. “It even makes it easier in some ways. We can try different things until you know what you want. Like lunch. I was going to get some if you’d like to join me. I think it would be nice to have lunch together.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t have to eat anything, although you maybe should,” she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek, withdrawing when he shrank back, raising a hand to ward her off and scowling at her. “All right. No touching. I won’t do it again. If you change your mind, you can take my hand to let me know. Do you want to come with me?”

“Stop,” 2-D said. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Stop talking like that. I’m not stupid.”

“I know,” she told him, allowing the volume of her voice to rise, its tone to harden. “I’m just trying to speak softly. I’m not very good at it. I’m sorry. And I can’t read your body language or your expression when you’re wrapped up in a blanket. I just… I wanted you to be absolutely sure of my motivations and… not be imposing. I can be kind of imposing.”

2-D sat up and scooted back to lean against the wall, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He moved slowly, deliberately, although it was impossible to tell whether he was groggy, stiff, or sore. Perhaps a combination of all three.

“What do you want, really?” he said.

“I want you to have lunch with me,” she replied, keeping it simple. Either he would accept, or he would not. Even if he accepted only to make a show of doing what she wanted, it wouldn’t matter. He would have to get up and move around and that would make a difference.

2-D sat still for several minutes, casting about his room until he found the pack of cigarettes he had stashed by his bed alongside an overflowing ashtray. He lit one, offered it to her, and then lit another when she accepted. He sighed deeply, breathing out smoke in a long stream.

“I dunno if I want anything,” he said, which was a step up from not being hungry at all.

“Then just come out and don’t have anything if you don’t want to.”

“Out?”

“Well,” she wheedled, “I had hoped we could go to that new place that opened up a couple of months ago. It’s not very far away, maybe twenty minutes to walk. They do a lot of vegetarian dishes that are really different, although you don’t have to have those. Or anything, if you don’t want. I mean, we don’t have to go there at all if you aren’t feeling up to it, but it’s nice out. It would be a good time to go.”

“I’d need a shower,” he said, eyes focused on his hand and the cigarette it held. He seemed to look through it rather than at it.

“You can be as sloppy as you want, Toochi,” she told him honestly. “I don’t care.”

2-D huffed in quick succession, a sort of dry chuckle, and then grinned at his hand. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but the expression scared her. Although he was the sweetest person she knew, a sort of alien malevolence overcame him from time to time, and then, with the merest twitch of an eye, it evaporated, and he was simply 2-D again. 2-D as she knew him, smile wan but gentle.

“I mean,” he said, “you’d have to wait until I shower. ‘Cause I wanna shower if we go out.”

“All right,” she said. "I’ll wait downstairs. You can take as long as you need.”

She felt bad leaving 2-D, worried as she was about his mood, but he had all but assured her he would shower and she wasn’t about to join him, so there was nothing left for it but to wait. She half-expected him to descend in ragged clothing, or a hoodie for maximum coverage, but 2-D dressed in light blue jeans – worn, but in good condition – and a pale pink sleeveless shirt, looking soft and rather pretty.

“You look really nice,” she told him.

2-D fidgeted at that, as though the thought of being looked at was too much to bear, and she wondered how to mitigate his discomfort until he pressed on, disregarding her comment entirely.

“You’re going to show me where the restaurant is, yeah?” he said. “I dunno about it really.”

“Well, I don’t know much either,” she admitted. “I just noticed it opening and looked up some reviews. It seems all right.”

“Okay,” he said, holding his hand out to her. “Show me.”

Delighted, she took it and led him out the door.

It really was a beautiful day, the sun bright but not too warm, a gentle breeze blowing. A rare sort of day that should not be wasted and it pleased her that she could walk through it with 2-D, to cheer him, she hoped, but also simply to enjoy it and to enjoy his company. She had always felt he was somehow close to her in age – even as a child, when he obviously was not – and thought it had something to do with his imagination and creative spontaneity. Some less charitable people had suggested terrible things about his possible stunted development, but they were tossers who did not understand the difference between intelligence and focus, the latter being difficult for many to achieve even without cranial trauma. She was more than happy to educate such persons physically.

One thing she loved about 2-D was that he was perpetually and weirdly _aware_. Not always of conversations or directions, but of the essence of his environment. She recognized this as being primarily a survival trait – always needing an escape route or being prepared for pacifying manoeuvres – but in a comfortable situation it was something almost magical.

They passed a few shop fronts on the way to the restaurant and when she paused to admire a cheeky little dress, 2-D said it was nice, but would look better with a lace wrap. Startled by the assessment, she asked him what made him think so, and he switched places with her, nudging her over until she was in line to see how the sunlight reflected off tracings of dirt on the window that had not yet been washed away to produce a lace-like effect over the dress, changing its character completely. It sat slightly out of alignment – she being shorter than he – and, honestly, she thought he might be right. At the very least it would considerably extend the piece’s options for wear.

After the dress, 2-D picked up a ladybird from somewhere and let it run around on his hand, telling her how very lucky they were since ladybirds were signs of protection due to things like mythology, but mostly due to eating aphids so crops wouldn’t die. They were especially lucky, he told her, because the one he held was very, very red, which was the luckiest shade.

“It’s a very auspicious colour in Japan as well,” she told him. “It means we’ll have a good day.”

2-D cast about and found a decorative flower bed into which he decanted the colourful beetle.

“They should properly fly away,” he told her, “but Alice is too friendly and we’re too close to the restaurant.”

“The ladybird’s name is Alice?” she said, amused. When 2-D nodded, she added, “How do you know that?”

“She told me,” he said, his expression neutral, and she couldn't tell if he was having her on or not.

The restaurant had a lovely oasis feeling about it, decorated in pastel greens, blues, and golds, hung with plants, and lit with brushed bronze plaques that reflected the sunlight pouring through the front window. They chose a sunlit booth, shielded somewhat by a rice paper shade, and a bubbly woman, her dark hair in a bob, brought them menus and goblets of water.

The woman looked to be in her late twenties, if not early thirties, and she half-expected 2-D to turn on the charm and chat her up, being more than willing to flirt with just about anyone, but he remained reservedly polite, seeming slightly unfocused as he perused his menu. When their server returned, she ordered a zucchini pasta salad and green tea, but frowned when 2-D shook his head, seeming completely uninterested in food.

“You ought to have something,” she coaxed him, “even if it’s only soup. I think I saw miso soup listed. That’s usually pretty good.”

2-D hemmed and hawed a bit and finally gave in, ordering the miso soup.

They talked as they waited, or, rather, she asked questions and waited patiently for 2-D to get around to answering them – if he bothered at all. He focused most of his attention on the window, people-watching, and she joined him, making comments now and then on the attire of pedestrians and wondering where it was they were headed. It was the kind of imaginative game 2-D would usually join with gusto – and more than a little vulgarity – but he was rather quiet this time, laughing at the odd joke, although not with as much joy and interest as he might have otherwise displayed.

When the food came, he only picked at it, getting through half the soup before putting it aside, which surprised her somewhat. Usually, if she convinced him to eat, he ate well, and she wondered if miso was simply not to his liking. She offered to let him taste her zucchini pasta, but he declined and became suddenly chatty, conversing with her in a distracted fashion about some of the music they were working on as she encouraged him with mono syllabic replies, her mouth too full to speak.

She insisted on paying for them both, as she had been the one to invite him, and he accepted this without complaint. He made friends with one of the hanging ferns as she paid, letting its fronds curl around his fingers and leaving it behind reluctantly when they left.

“You could get one, you know,” she told him as they made their way back home. “It would look nice in your room.”

“I dun have a green thumb,” 2-D told her. “I couldn’t… It would get dry and yellow.”

“They aren’t terribly hard to take care of,” she said. “If you—“

“I can barely take care of _me_ , Noodle,” he snapped at her, declaring the conversation closed.

She did not feel the statement was true – thought on some level that even 2-D didn’t really believe it – but his anger put her off. 2-D rarely lost his temper and could be mean when he did. Meaner than Murdoc, who was often vicious, but seldom personal. Murdoc simply did not have enough empathy to be mean. On the field of cruelty, the kind held sway. They understood what it meant to hurt.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and said nothing, trying not to take 2-D’s annoyance personally. She wanted to grab his hand and remind him of all the wonderful things he had done in his lifetime – big things and small – and that only in the times they were together. There were no doubt so many other things of which she had never learned. However—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

2-D’s brow furrowed in emotional agony as he touched his forehead, covering half of his face, clenched and unclenched his fist near his chest, and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He repeated these gestures in irregular patterns, switching hands at random intervals. He bit his lip, eyes tear-bright, and that, combined with his fidgeting, typically signalled frustration.

Life itself seemed determined to frustrate 2-D through sensory overload, sudden memory lapses, depressive symptoms, anxiety, and any combination thereof. In spite of this, he handled himself well more often than not. Often enough that the gradual breakdown he was currently experiencing could qualify as a minor emergency.

She cast about for a quiet spot and, finding nothing better than an alley that was little more than a glorified pathway, steered 2-D toward it. He protested, but followed as if his feet were bringing him of their own accord and she silently praised them for that. She only led him a few paces in between the buildings, but it was dim enough, quiet enough, and free enough from traffic that he could breathe a little.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, stuck in a verbal rut as he tried to express something whose shape he could not grasp. “I’m sorry, I shun’ta—“

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” she assured him. “I know you aren’t really angry with me.”

“I’m tired,” he said, looking over his hands in dismay, his palms damp where he had pressed them against his eyes. “Oh. Uh…”

“That’s all right, too,” she told him. “That happens. It’s always happened. I know.”

2-D seldom cried outright, but his eyes tended to leak in response to any strong emotion. It had been a part of who he was as far back as she could remember. The fact of it irritated him, but it happened frequently enough that sometimes he didn’t even notice until someone passed him a handkerchief.

Caught by surprise, he simply wiped away the tears with the heel of his hand.

“They say if your eyes are leaky, you should rub your tears all over your face since they’re meant to remove oil and dirt,” she told him in an effort to lighten the mood. When 2-D’s brow only furrowed further, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I was hoping it would make you laugh.”

“I’m just tired,” he repeated.

“I guess you must be,” she agreed. “Deep breaths then. Maybe through your mouth, it stinks of garbage back here.”

He smiled a little at that, but the expression quickly dissolved. He leaned against the wall, hugging himself, focused wholly on breathing.

“You never really wanted to go out, did you?” she sighed as he shook his head. “And I pressured you into it.”

“I’s not a good day today,” 2-D said.

“You could have said no,” she told him. “I would have understood. Well… after the third time, maybe.”

She had intended that comment to be a joke as well, but either 2-D was not focused enough to hear it or in no mood to smile because it slipped right by him.

“I dun like saying no to you,” he admitted. “An’ i’s all the things you’re s’posed to do innit? Get cleaned up, go outside, get exercise… all’a that. An’ I thought you'd want to say you tried ever’thing an’ maybe it’d work anyway, but it din’t an’ I’m tired, Noodle. I’m… I’m so tired.”

2-D breathed the words out, feather-soft, but they cut as deeply as any knife, cut her clear to the core. She knew his moods came and went, but it hurt to hear him speak like that, like sleep was his only option, the longer and more permanent, the better.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was all she could do. “Is touching okay, now? Or will that be too much?”

“Touch?”

“Touch,” she said, holding her hands out toward him. When he didn’t flinch away, she slipped her hands between his crossed arms, gently pulling them apart, and put herself in their place, hugging him, her head resting on the plane of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, squeezing him tightly as his arms latched around her for lack of any place else to put them. “I just… I just get so worried about you when you hide away and won’t come out. It scares me. But I’m sorry I’ve made you so uncomfortable. I love you, okay? You’re still my best friend. My niichan. I love you.”

It was strange. She could almost hear aged and rusted gears grinding into life as 2-D automatically reacted to her presence, stroking her back, her hair, and crooning reassurances. It hadn’t been her intention, but it was comforting to know that the need to protect and care for her overrode 2-D’s darker emotional circuits.

“I’s a’right, pun'kin,” he murmured, lightly scratching her scalp. “I’m a’right. Made it this far, yeah? I just… I just…”

She hummed her understanding and eased her hold on him a little.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “We’ll be home soon, okay? Don’t worry. I know it’s hard sometimes. Do you think you can walk the rest of the way with me, or do you want me to call us a car?”

“I can walk.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind calling one.”

“I can walk,” he repeated.

“All right, I believe you,” she said, “and I love you, okay? So, so much.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek that left him looking bewildered and, taking his hand, stepped toward the entrance of the alleyway. She paused there until he was ready, and then allowed him to lead her back out into the sunshine.

In the end, the walk back went more swiftly than the walk to the restaurant. She kept a sure hold of 2-D’s hand and chattered at him in a low voice, partly to set their pace and partly to distract 2-D from his environment. The latter did not always work especially well – he was always so _aware_ – but it gave him an excuse not to engage with the world if he needed it. He seemed willing enough to take it, barring a couple of sudden lunges off their path to collect treasures, and if he looked no less worn when they arrived home, he certainly looked calmer.

“I hope you’re going to wash those,” she said as 2-D held up a shard of glass in the most remarkable shade of blue to test its appearance in the weird light of their present home.

“Most of ‘em,” 2-D said, lowering the glass shard and examining, in turn, an intricate stone, an iron ring, and a leaf so decayed it appeared to be made of lace. “Not the leaf.”

“Why would you even pick that up?”

“Issa fairy tablecloth,” he said as though it explained everything. “I’ll put it out when it’s time for the fairies to find it.”

“Do the fairies talk to you, too?” she said, amused, but also faintly concerned. “Like Alice?”

“They talk to ever’one,” 2-D told her. “Ladybirds too.”

“I’ve never heard them,” she said. “I don’t think Murdoc or Russel have either. How can you?”

“I got hit inna head and done a lot of drugs.”

It was as good an answer as any, she supposed, wondering how much of it was a tease and how much dark humour at his own expense. It was certain he would never tell her.

“Are you… going to lie down again?”

“Yeah, I think so,” 2-D said wearily, tucking the stone and ring into his pocket. The glass and leaf he kept in his hand. “I’s not a good day today. Not even good things are good today.”

That hurt a little, although she did not say so, understanding the source of it. It was not that going out was not good – it was – it was simply tainted by the day, by black clouds and dark thoughts, and simple weariness.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” she said. “Or even lie down with you? Sometimes it’s nice just to know someone’s there.”

“No, I think I want to be alone. I din’t know before, but I do now.”

“Okay,” she said, and that also hurt a little. “Would you leave your door open just a tiny bit? Then I can poke my head in if I get worried and I won’t wake you.”

And maybe Katsu will go say hello, she thought, but did not add. A surprise visit from an animal friend might be welcome, but the suspicion that she had engineered it would not.

“I can do that,” 2-D told her, and then snaked an arm around her neck to draw her in and kiss her high on her forehead. She didn’t think he had done so since she was ten. “Ever’thing’s a’right, you know. Just not today.”

She hugged him and let him return to the softness and comfort of his room, feeling somewhat down herself, now, an energy she put into tidying up and indulging in sad music.

It didn’t last. It couldn’t. She felt better by the time the others returned and, in time, so did 2-D. It took another day and a half, but she found him laughing in the kitchen, sketching what appeared to be a glass mobile as Russel cooked. She joined them, never a word passing between them about lunch that day.

A week or so later she picked up some ferns for the front room, thumbing her nose at Murdoc’s objections and telling him greenery would spruce the place up. If the house objected, it could stop eating the paint and haunting their interior decorating. She took care of them very conspicuously, a chore 2-D eventually helped her with, and then mostly took over.

Their names were Maury, Bella, and Lutz and they grew full and lush and green.


End file.
